I did once go to Kanyakumari on my unicorn from hyderabad but i could not capture every minute detail like you did. So I ask you how could u manage to do so?
Did you maintain a dairy or something?

Thanks Abhijit Good to know you will experience the valley soon. Make the most of it and document every living moment in whatever way you can so we can relive your experience through you too

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 21: Drass mein Trass

June 5, 2010








We find Drass, Spiderweb and I. The ambience has much to offer and offer it does. My mind politely declines for it is blinded by hunger. It sees nothing. Fatigue is all the experience it will experience. As I run in and out of consciousness, I unwillingly point my lens in Spiderweb's direction as he carefully constructs his third pose against the backdrop of a signage that announces our arrival to the second coldest inhabited place in the world. I see him say something but my declining mind can only register a few keywords. I believe he wants me to ensure that I frame the signage completely. I nod casually, not looking, for I do not care. A flash goes off and I presume I have done my duty. But Spiderweb will not leave until he captures me in this historic location. "Dude, this is epic! Stand in front of the sign. Now look here..., now there..." he will iterate with child-like excitement. I will oblige, as if doing him a favour, only to later recall thanking him in my head for making sure that I did not forget my duty to record the evidence of my escapades so that I may share them with those that could not follow.

We resume the ride; but not for long for we bump into our lost comrades a furlong away.




Motorbreath and Aman, those that rode ahead whilst we were left behind; each looking furious - an emotion I believe to be misplaced for it would find a more hospitable and justifiable spot in Spiderweb's consciousness; for it was he who was left behind with a broken steed. They enquire accusingly as to our whereabouts stressing that they have wasted over an hour waiting for us. We argue that instead of riding ahead all the way to Drass without us in sight, had they awaited our arrival at Zozila, we probably would have been able to communicate to them that Spiderweb's steed now revved with a limp and a gasp. It would not hit the high notes until it was cared for. Aman nudges us to forget the discussion and continue riding to Kargil. I decline stating I would prefer to refuel my body before we stress on. Aman presses further stating they are all hungry and tired but we need to continue riding to gain ground. I think to myself, "Gain ground on whom or what? Surely we follow no one." I counter his argument stating that he could ride hungry and tired if he so wished. The state of my constitution did not permit me to do so. This was a vacation, not a test of my ability to torture myself and I will eat if I so please. Aman's tone turns a sarcastic, icy, blue as he lets out "Lo... mujhe to pata hi tha yeh hone walla hai" (I knew this would happen). At this point my nerves are beginning to get the better of me. Logic suggests that Aman is pushing us to press on due to his desire to catch up with the Pune regiment once more. Emotion suggests that if his desperation to be with them should have motivated him to leave with them from Srinagar. Logic suggests that he too had ridden with us the night before to Srinagar and it was inhuman to expect him to have woken up in time for the Puneris. Emotions suggest that his circumstances weren't my problem. We promised to ride with him to Srinagar to rendezvous with the Puneris and the Universe is witness to our staggering efforts. If the Puneris left without a care, there was certainly no reason for us to continue chasing them.

Chase them I won't; listen to my heart I will; give a f uck I do.

And before Logic could formulate a response; Emotion has summoned Anger and Anger gives Aman a piece of my mind even as I storm off into a bakery to pick up cream buns and cups of chai for Spiderweb and me. I offer some to Motorbreath.



He declines informing me that Aman and he had only just finished with their own bingeing activity. It is a response that will trigger a burst of rage within my cranium for I now recall Aman's assertion that they were all hungry and tired. Lie he did of being tired for in their own admission, they waited for an hour. Lie he did on being hungry as well. For what I ask? My mind cannot contain the Anger as it screams murderous rage. This time round though, Motorbreath suffers my wrath as I accuse him of abandoning us an accusation that will last several minutes. Spiderweb stands on the sidelines, letting me do his dirty laundry. As sugar finds its way into my system, I temper down and the conversation takes a civil tone.

Drass is forgettable for it is minuscule; adorned only by a handful of housing structures of rock and wood. And yet, forget it we won't for the historical and geographical relevance of the land we stand on is frighteningly relevant. I do not experience Drass in all its glory for we must continue our journey.

I realize now that our bike chains need cleaning and lubing for they have definitely done more than their fair share of pulling and prodding for the day. As Motorbreath and I undertake to clean and lube each bike using our canisters, Spiderweb slips into a reverie of his own while we lose Aman to slumber as he drifts into nothingness; seated upright and without support on a desolate and dirty staircase.

We will lose Aman once more. This time to nature for, not many miles out of Drass, the sight of a stream grips Spiderweb, forcing him to ease into a causeless stop, one that is reciprocated my Motorbreath and I. Aman though, unmoved by nature's persistent displays, moves on. We blare our horns in a vain attempt to catch his eye, to pull him back. But his focus is forward. He will evade us until Kargil comes.






Technology aids our weary eyes as a lens zoom shows us that which we cannot see. Time gently rocks by as our hearts tune in to the soothing conversations between water and stone. They speak of everything in general, of nothing in particular and from the sound of it, of happiness, of freedom, of peace. It is an experience I wish to share with those that do not follow, and yet, incapable am I, for I am a human, cursed with speech, trapped in words, withdrawn from the simplicity and effectiveness of action. In the decades of buying into meaningless diction, I seem to have forgotten the efficacy of being, of doing, of demanding evidence for promises; for it is in the light of evidence, these promises would reveal themselves for what they were. ****ing lies.

We wander for what seems like hours and yet time seems irrelevant. The law of diminishing returns has no place in a timeless space. But we must move forward. Kargil awaits us. We reckon Kargil would be our destination for the day for the Universe will refuse to shed light on the paths to follow; at least not before another revolution.

And so, through tar and stone and settlements big and small, we push fowards.

































Kargil. I sense change for green turns to brown, trees to stone, and warm welcomes to icy disregard. We find Aman's bike announcing his presence in the vicinity. He is busy calling home. Others follow suit. I wait for I have none to call.

As we begin our hunt for shelter, it dawns on me that we are not welcome in Kargil for all I perceive of its denizens is disgust and despair. We are refused accommodation in what seem to be empty lodges. We are told they are full. After several frustrating attempts and riding uphill and downhill on narrow, cluttered lanes, we find shade in a run down structure. A bed is all they have to offer along with a bathroom that must be shared with those on the same floor, 3 rooms in all.

Hungry once more, we decide to take a walk along the Kargil marketplace, hunting for food. In what seems to be a pattern, each restaurant we visit tells us there is no food available. Historical this land is. Tourist friendly it is not. We regret our decision to stay over. This is not the India I was out to find. It does not want me. I don't want it. One and only one restaurant lets us in with a promise of food. But they will serve one and only one dish - Rice and Chicken Curry. They have nothing else we are told. We gladly accept whatever they have to offer. Beggars can't be choosers and neither can tourists in Kargil.




Evening dawns. I wish it hadn't for I feel cold. I feel lonely. I feel inconsequential. I feel pain. I feel anger. I feel anger at pain. I feel stupid. I feel broken. I feel ostracized. I feel confused. I feel suicidal. I feel pain. I feel pain. I feel pain.

Perhaps its the hostile environment. Or perhaps its memories of those that left me. One way or the other, this land makes me miserable. I would ride out tonight if I could just to be free of my misery; to be free of all that is and was me. To be free of memories that will haunt me for as long as I shall live. To be free of the countless wounds I count in vain. I wonder if my fondness for biking stems from a deep desire to run away. Run away from everyone in general, from no-one in particular. All I need is an escape to nowhere for nowhere is where my being is.

We eat. We walk. We explore.
















Spiderweb and Motorbreath find an Internet cafe and devour Facebook. I will refrain for the last thing I need today is to be reminded of a life I am willing to forget and to be reminded of the fact that I have already been forgotten.

I feel inconsequential. I feel pain.

I call home just to be reminded that I may still have some relevance to a few. I spend a quarter of an hour rattling out facts of my journey in a bid to justify my meagre existence. The brief connection brings me back to reality and science. My consciousness in the Universe will last only briefly. Perhaps far less than I count on. My escape from my consciousness is carved in stone. Death is not a transient phase in the context of my consciousness. It is a permanent fact. And to lose precious minutes contemplating on that which I cannot control, on those that I do not wish to control and on that and those that controlled me and used me as transient stepping stones into happier phases of their equally meagre existences, to lose that which I can never create, to lose that which I never did create, is a crime against consciousness - both, of my own and of the Universe. I have a responsibility towards the Universe - that of being happy or at least making a valiant effort at being happy.

Science tells me that the Universe does not care either way. It has given the gift that it needed to give and it is unconcerned of how I am to use it. But use it responsibly I will; for it is the only path that inspires in me the feeling of relevance. The desire to not let go. It is this desire that has brought me this far, for I can think no other reason why I have not laid down the gift at the alter several times before. It is my desire to find relevance, to be relevant; not to the Universe, but to the self. I can find no other justification for being alive today.



As we call it a night that night, I overhear Spiderweb promising Aman that he will rise at 6:00am. All I can do is smile as I close my eyes and sink into nothingness.

WOAH WOAH WOW!!!

i must say that this is the perfect and the most mesmerizing and indulging travel blog EVER!!

SO LOVING IT...WOW

how i wish i would make it...but yeah..i'll be making it to ladakh in june probably next year!!

will experience all that you have experienced ....

ROCK ON!!

Ohhhh I did not see that up until now!!!! Haa so good, I have more time to finish the story ;-)

Check out "LIVE" xBhp is going offline on 27th September.. Its a confusion if its going offline forever or just a day :-S Check this out



Ooh before clicking Submit, I read the last post.. M&M bought 51% of xBhp & its not going offline forever !

September 27th ko kya hai? And yeah, I'm rattling out a few chapters tonight. Hopefully I'll finish, nahin toh tomorrow tak you'll see some movement!

Misraji write as much as you can before 27th sept.. Nobody has any clue what shall happen then.. I want to read this log.. Its like a Last Wish

The ultimate Mirch Masala
*waits*

Ah! so you are back, I thought this thread got deleted or something.
We are all hooked on man so carry on, we need more.

My client asked me to stop As in I had a tight deadline. Will restart tomorrow, pakka promise! Our fights are about to start soon!! (in the story that is)

@Alankar... who asked you to stop?!?

bade ka jacket hai, aur jacket ka malik ko amnesia ho gaya hai

Near the avatar there's something written kind of "Late Bloomer" would you had waken up faster from your beds you would have seen more

Having fun on this blog )

Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 20: The rise and fall of Zozila

June 5, 2010

Come dawn, we awaken. Of course I jest, for I have rarely glimpsed at dawn in the journey to date and the ritual of tardy awakenings shall continue way into the days to come, much to the exasperation of Aman, an early riser, and one on a budgeted schedule. Today we encounter the mighty Zojila. I have yet to make its acquaintance but its diabolical reputation precedes it.


The temperature has bottomed out. My teeth chatter out a plea for an additional layer of clothing. I oblige, putting on thermals we procured not long ago. Jackets over jackets, mittens under gloves, bandanas beneath helmets, pills within the system.

We head down for a brief breakfast. I do not recall the menu, only that it didn't matter for my taste buds battle for consciousness owing to the rude thermal shock. Outside, the steeds struggle for sanity as well - well some of them at least. The two R-15s start up instantaneously; the Karizma takes a few tries; the Pulsar struggles for breath and fails. Aman gets a workout as he pushes Motorbreath and his Pulsar uphill, so they can roll back downhill and get the motor running. It works but the revving is iffy. None would be surprised if it gave in. It does a few times.


While Motorbreath and Aman run along the slopes with motored bikes by their side in a parody of sorts, we make small talk with dual riders from 60kph who reside in the same hotel as us, head in same direction as us and probably do not order for women with a side-dish of chicken soup unlike us. As their Bullets warm up on standstill throttle Spiderweb and I join Aman and Motorbreath.






Motorbreath's steed now takes shallow breaths but it holds and will hold ground in the clock-cycles to come. Sonmarg offers plenty to the aesthetically inclined and then some for the aesthetically blind. Aman and I continue our tryst to pixellate, he better than I. Motorbreath, uncomfortable with his steed's state, announces that he will trudge on without halts up until Drass to avoid another push-till-you-drop scenario. Being the ones most likely to be in the drop zone, we support his argument vehemently. Unfortunately we are forced to stop. For all roads that lead through Zojila, one in number, are presently closed to allow for heavy vehicles to make it through from the other side.

Zojila and its accomplices shun roads as they obliterate them with falling rocks and mud. They politely offer us snow, rock, rubble and grime and dare we refuse, force it down our paths. And even though man made constructions offer guidance to the mighty Zojila with inscriptions such as "Zojila PASS", Zojila has no intention of letting us pass. It will gleefully kill us where we slide. It's message is clear - Leave us alone.

And it is this Zojila we await now. Chais are downed, biscuits devoured, conversations exchanged and millions of pixels tuned into environmental wavelengths. An hour by an inexact clock and the roads open. There is pandemonium as me-first tourist and transport vehicles scurry out. We aren't far behind. In fact Motorbreath and Aman are far ahead as Motorbreath pushes his throttle to keep his steed from running out of breath.










There is a pattern to every journey in every pass. The approach road consists of flawless tarmac as it seduces one closer into the pass. And when one is just about enjoying the heightened senses, the tarmac starts to disintegrate little by little. One argues, "This isn't so bad, perhaps it will get better. Moreover, the view is breath-taking!" and so one continues to trudge on. Then, when its too late to turn back, the tarmac almost completely disappears, the heights make one dizzy and the lack of oxygen takes one's breath-away, literally instead of figuratively. Mud, grime, round stones, sharp stones, black ice, white ice (aka snow) all come together in convoluted proportions with the express desire to make you eat them as they wrestle with your steed in an attempt to bring her down.

But since Zojila is my first, I am oblivious to these patterns. As we begin the climb, I think to myself, "Wow, wonderful roads! I'm gonna enjoy this." Somewhere out there Zojila laughs in evil merriment.
Fifteen minutes into the ride and I find myself cornered on a narrow turn and a Tavera, unable to keep its momentum, sliding backwards. All I can do is stare in horror. Fortunately, the monster-cage finds traction and slithers back up, but not without squirting out grime in my direction. I duck, unsuccessfully. Strike one.

The next to get hit is Spiderweb, albeit he is hit harder. For the Karizma struggles for traction. With ageing clutch plates, it struggles to make progress. Spiderweb pushes the beast to its limit. The engine overheats due to constant throttling, and in an act of self-preservation, shuts down. I am a few throttles away as I hear Spiderweb holler out to me. I turn to see him pushing his steed with all his might. I realize there is trouble and halt in a dry corner - a protrusion of the cliff where traffic wouldn't dare venture. Spiderweb takes a few more grunts to get to where I am and informs me of his quandary. His steed is leaking power. The clutch plates have to be replaced at some point in the near future although we are unsure when this might become a reality. For now, his only hope is to keep pushing his steed, giving it abundant rest. Motorbreath and Aman have disappeared into the steep curves. We have no way of informing them for the networks have long since buckled to the might of Zojila. Since they have each other, we desist from thinking about them any further and focus on the problem at hand.




Our progress is conservative by every standard. We decide not to let that bother us, choosing instead to chit chat, admire Zojila and laugh at our complete helplessness against its might. But it would appear that Zojila has taken a liking toward us; for it threatens us with neither wind nor rain nor snow fall. It permits us to admire it, explore it and worship it.



And then it happens...

Our progress leads us on to a pristine pathway and surrounding us is snow. And while I have seen many-a-snow caps and frozen rivers from a distance in the journey to this hour, this, right here, in a lifetime that spans 33 years, was the first time I held in between my fingers.




I firmly believe that life is best experienced as children for there is so much to strike our fancy. It is probably no co-incidence then that the state is described as in-fancy. As age and experience begin to nibble away at novelty, infusing it with predictability, boredom sets in. Maturity, I opine, is merely the bastard child of predictability and boredom.

And so, when at 33, I have my first experience of holding snow in my now naked hands, I transcend into a childhood I had since forgotten. Spiderweb throws several snow balls at me, each one hitting its target. I return several, each one wildly off course. It would appear that in addition to childhood, I have transcended into throw-like-a-girl state. I'd like to blame it squarely on my now frozen hands. We take turns lying down on the snow, pixelate memories, posing some more, then repeat the process. Mind you, this is just my first time holding snow. To see a snow fall, I will have to wait a day more.







We expected to find Aman and Motorbreath at this very spot. Safe, dry for the most part and with plenty of space to park away from the traffic, makes for a perfect rendezvous point. When the state of one steed is iffy, its far more comforting to have three additional sets of hands and engines as opposed to one. Unfortunately, they have chosen to move along. We reckon we will rendezvous with them only at Drass now but there's little we can do.

Over the next several hours, Spiderweb and I ride over and around snow, through frigid water and warm muck, over narrow paths overlooking nothingness, around motored monsters that squish our tiny souls into uncomfortable corners, through virgin terrains free from the assault of human civilization, with herds of sheep that call out to us, around herds of wild horses that outrun us, over bridges made of metal, beside rivers made of liquid heaven.









We mingle with security personnel, politely reject offers for tea, gladly accept offers for conversations. They tell us about them, we tell them about us. We learn of their families, of their fears, of their resolve to serve and protect. We love them more, we respect us less, lament the times we cried over our petty dilemmas, resolve to push harder. In the company of brave, we gain just a little bit of courage. And for that, and for them, we are thankful...








We are getting close to Drass now; but that's a whole other chapter...